Need vs Want
by Goddess-of-the-Night04
Summary: Sherlock needs John to pretend to be his boyfriend for Christmas. John has always preferred to be wanted rather than needed, but there's some disagreement between them on the actual difference. One-shot.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing from the Sherlock (BBC specifically in this case) enterprise. I wish I could make money off this, but I can't, and that's going to be okay.

**A/N:** This does follow canon to as far as we know it right now. Mary and the baby existed; this takes place one Christmas later than the one in HLV. Sorry if that makes my year calculation wrong...kind of difficult for me to keep track.

* * *

It happens as everything else in John's life that involves Sherlock does. That is, to say, suddenly.

"John, I need you to come home with me for Christmas," he says from the couch while looking at his phone where he had just received a text.

"Right, of course you do," John says sarcastically as he looks up from his laptop in his chair, "Why?"

Sherlock looks up at him, "Mummy insists."

John shakes his head, "Does anyone in your family actually use the phone function of their phones?"

"Texting is more efficient," he sniffs in response.

"So why is it that she's insisting that I come, then?"

Sherlock blushes slightly as he looks back down at his phone, pretending to do something on it, "She wants to meet my boyfriend."

It isn't often that - after five years with Sherlock Holmes - John is caught off guard. He has been conditioned to expect the unexpected, and while he may not know exactly what's going to come out of the other man's mouth, he knows enough to realize it probably won't be something he's previously thought of himself. That statement, however, makes John choke on the air he was attempting to breathe.

"Your _what_?" John forces out.

"_Boyfriend_," Sherlock grits out between his teeth.

John's voice goes to the dangerously low level that signifies an influx in emotion, "Did you tell your mother that you and I are _dating_?" He practically hisses.

Sherlock finally looks back at John with a glare firmly in place, "No." John raises an eyebrow that clearly states he doesn't believe him, so he continues, "I told her that I had a boyfriend, I didn't say it was _you_."

John breathes in deeply through his nose, "Then why do_ I_ have to go home with you for Christmas?"

Sherlock rolls his eyes, "Because who else would I take?"

"I don't know, hire someone. Call in a favor. Take one of your homeless network, they tend to clean up nice."

His lip curls in disdain, "John, don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not going."

"Joooooohn," Sherlock whines.

"Bloody...no! There is no way that this turns out well. I have seen enough movies to know that the person pretending feels guilty about lying, the person needing the pretender gets embarrassed by their family, and 85% of the time the truth ends up coming out anyway. No."

Upon hearing facts Sherlock goes in to his traditional thinking mode, but it doesn't take him long to process the information. He comes back to the conversation with, "What will you do while I'm away?"

"What?"

"If you don't come with me. Harry's back to drinking so you won't be seeing her, and Mary ran off with David and their tiny human forever ago and you haven't heard hide or hair from them since. What will you do?"

John's look is absolutely murderous. His left hand flexes as he chews his lip to fight the urge to walk over to Sherlock and punch him in the nose.

Sherlock reads all of this and adds, "Too soon?" a bit sheepishly.

"Yeah, Sherlock!" John shouts, flailing his hands, "They left 10 months ago; the divorce isn't even final yet. It's too bloody soon you twat!"

He glances down quickly, then back to John's eyes sincerely, "I apologize. Please, I really need you to do this for me."

John shakes his head while trying to calm down, "You're not going to run the human act on me to guilt me in to this."

"It's not an act, I swear," Sherlock places all of the honesty in his words and eyes as he can, and he knows exactly when John recognizes them.

"This is not fair. Not just to ask of me, but to put your family through," he says calmly.

"I know. I never imagined that Mummy would be so insistent about actually meeting my _special someone,_" he says with mild disgust.

John smiles a little, "She thinks you found someone who can put up with you; of _course_ she's interested to meet that lunatic."

Sherlock gives him a pointed look before slowly saying, "But I _have_ found someone who can put up with me, haven't I? That's why it has to be you."

"Oh my God," he says, as though he's just had an unfortunate revelation.

Sherlock smirks, "You know I'm right."

John closes his eyes and shakes his head, "When do we leave and how long is this stupid plan going to last?"

Sherlock brightens and sits up straight on the couch, "We'll leave early Christmas Eve and be back on the 26th."

John groans, "Three days?"

Sherlock tsks, "Surely you can manage that. We'll need to get you some new suits, though."

"I'm not wearing suits for three days. If you want me to be believable, I have to be comfortable somehow."

The younger man calculates quickly, "Fine. One suit. You'll need it for Christmas Eve."

"Fine. I'll pick one up on my way home from work on Monday."

He looks offended, "You will not!"

"What? What have I done wrong _now_?"

"I will take you to my tailor. I'll pay for the suit as a thank you for agreeing."

"You don't need to buy my assistance."

"I am aware, but even I realize that this is above and beyond the call of friendship and feel that I should acknowledge that."

John stares at him in shock for a few seconds, "Who _are_ you?"

Sherlock gives him a winning smile before rising from the couch, walking to John's chair, and leaning down to place a quick kiss on his cheek, "I am loving, doting boyfriend Sherlock. I will do my best to make it as easy to deal with me as possible."

John's mouth had fallen open, so he closes it quickly before responding, "You actually make it more difficult to deal with you when you're pretending to be someone else. Don't be a version of Sherlock; just be Sherlock."

"But no one would date that Sherlock," he looks confused.

"You haven't exactly let anyone try, have you?"

The next day Sherlock calls in a favor with his tailor for them to meet him even though it's Sunday. In the cab on the way there, Sherlock reaches over and interlaces the fingers of his left hand with John's right. John jumps and reflexively tries to remove his hand but Sherlock's only grips tighter.

"There are a few things we need to get used to in the next four days so that this charade is easier," he explains and loosens his grip only when he feels John's hand relax in his, "Most everything else should come pretty easily, but the physical touches will take some getting used to."

John gives him a confused look, "Are you trying to imply that we're practically a non-intimate couple already?"

He shrugs one shoulder and looks out the window, "We know everything about each other, we prefer each other's company to that of others, and most importantly: as previously stated, you can put up with me."

"There's more to relationships than that."

Sherlock looks back towards him, "Like what?"

John has to look away from him before he softly says, "Like being wanted."

Sherlock's brow furrows just as the cab pulls up to the tailor and John releases his hand before stepping out, leaving Sherlock to cover the fare.

"John..." Sherlock tries to pick up where they left off before they enter the store.

"Sherlock, just leave it. It's all fine," he smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Sherlock lets it go in favor of getting the fitting done. It'll be quite the task for the tailor to get the charcoal grey suit ready in time, but he seems more than happy to do it.

That night they decide to go to Angelo's for dinner, and John doesn't even protest when he brings them a candle for the table. At their square table, they're seated on joining sides instead of across. Their knees touch every so often and both attempt to not flinch away quite so obviously.

When their food arrives, Sherlock places his right hand just above John's left knee before picking up his fork with his left hand and beginning to eat. John predictably jumps a couple of inches in surprise.

"See, this is what I mean. You can't keep jumping at my touch like you're scared of it," Sherlock says without looking from his food.

"If you try to grope me in front of your family, I _will_ be scared of it, real or not."

Sherlock rolls his eyes as he looks at John, "Oh, please. If I was trying to grope you my hand would be much higher," he leans in close to John's face to growl out seductively, "should I show you just how high?" John gulps at the timbre of his voice. Has it always been that attractive? Sherlock leans yet closer so he's speaking directly in to his ear, causing his hand to ride just slightly higher than it was to start, "I wouldn't even have to move it all the way up to touch you for you to react to me; to be able to imagine my hand cupping you."

John releases a heavy breath, his face flaming from embarrassment and maybe a tiny bit of arousal. Sherlock squeezes his leg before removing himself from John's immediate vicinity and resuming eating as if nothing happened.

John clears his throat, "You are_ not_ doing that in front of any member of your family," he says sternly before going back to his own food.

Sherlock smirks, "I rather think not. That was an experiment; I don't think even with continued practice beforehand that you could conduct yourself in a decent way should we try it in front of others."

His mouth gapes, "You expect me to react decently while you whisper very _indecent_ things in to my ear?!"

"Just trying to add a challenge."

John glares and they finish their meal in silence. Once home, John goes directly to his room for the night, quite thoroughly through with Sherlock Holmes for the day.

When John returns from work on Monday, it's to Sherlock sitting in his chair on John's computer.

"Oh lovely, helping yourself to my things again I see," he says as he takes off his jacket.

"Mine was on the coffee table," he says without looking from the screen.

"Right, that's much too far to walk," John picks up the laptop from the coffee table as he heads to his chair, "Trade," he says as he grabs his own and places Sherlock's on his lap.

As John is pulling up his email, he continues, "I was thinking today that, in fairness of getting used to things, that we should practice kissing," he's proud of himself and the fact that he doesn't so much as blush when he says it, though it helps that he wasn't looking at Sherlock as the words escaped his mouth.

Sherlock hums absently in what at first sounds like agreement, but then the words seem to actually process and he looks up in shock, "Did you just say you thought about kissing me today?"

John rolls his eyes, "No. I mean yes, but no," Sherlock's confused look doesn't disappear with that gem, "I was thinking through things that couples do that people are used to seeing."

"I don't really think my family will expect to see us kiss."

"You also didn't expect your mother to want to meet your boyfriend. I'm not saying they definitely will but that we should be prepared in case they do."

"Can't we just kiss on the spot should the need arise?" Sherlock looks a bit flushed.

"How many people have you kissed?" John asks seriously.

Sherlock flushes further, "A few."

"The first kiss with someone is always clearly different than any subsequent kisses due to getting to know the other person. It's quite obvious when you're seeing a pair's first kiss, and if your family members are as deduction happy as you are, they will definitely notice."

"That is a fair logic," Sherlock concedes, "when would you like to practice?"

"How about now? Before either of us can think on it too much."

"Okay," he agrees but doesn't move.

John stands and places his laptop on his seat, then signals for Sherlock to do the same.

"Go ahead and take the lead on this first one," John offers, trying to make Sherlock more at ease by being in control.

Sherlock nods curtly before stepping closer to the shorter man. He bends down awkwardly, quickly pressing their closed lips together for a few seconds before taking a step back.

John can't help the laugh that escapes. It just reminds him too much of his first kiss ever with all of the awkwardness that surrounds it.

"What?" Sherlock asks defensively.

"If I hadn't personally witnessed you kissing Janine, I would swear you were lying about having kissed anyone before."

"Well if you're such an expert, you do it then," he challenges, not thinking through his words.

"That is not a problem," John assures him with a predatory gleam in his eye. Sherlock swallows loudly.

John gracefully steps forward in to Sherlock's personal space, lightly but confidently moving his right hand from the tips of Sherlock's fingers up to his cheek. John stares in to those chameleon eyes before licking his own lips, and smiles in satisfaction as Sherlock's gaze is drawn to the action as his breath hitches.

John moves his right hand from the taller man's cheek to the nape of his neck, gently coaxing his face towards his own. It's been awhile since he's kissed a man - or anyone taller than him - but he doesn't worry about that being an issue. John leans his face to the left to avoid the other man's nose as their lips touch so softly they could almost not be touching at all. He closes his eyes with a sigh and presses his mouth and body flush against Sherlock's, bringing his left hand to grasp the other's hip.

Sherlock melts in to his body while bringing his left to John's back as his right rests over John's hand on his hip, tracing the grooves between his fingers.

John can't help removing his lips slightly only to be able to renew the kiss, alternating his head tilt as desired and both hands gripping more firmly. Claiming.

Finally - when he can bring himself to draw away - Sherlock breaks the kiss to lean his forehead against the other man's and they share heavy breaths between them.

"I don't think my family would have been able to tell that was our first kiss."

John chuckles, "Maybe not, but the experiment did prove something."

Sherlock draws back with an interested look, "What is that?"

John is smiling widely when he says, "That we probably shouldn't do that in front of your family; I don't think I could trust you to react decently when the time comes."

Sherlock scowls playfully, "Oh shut up," he says before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to John's lips again. It was a natural move to both do and accept, and causes both to smile.

"See? Practice helps; that will be perfectly acceptable in public," John says.

Over the next few days they continue getting things ready. John has purchased presents for Sherlock's parents and brother to come from the both of them, with little help from the man who should know what they'd like better than him. Their touches and kisses have become extremely comfortable and natural with the practice they've been giving them. John doesn't typically touch or kiss his girlfriends as much as he's been doing with Sherlock, but the more they do it the easier it gets which is the whole point, isn't it?

"Your suit arrived. I want you to try it on to make sure it fits right," Sherlock says by way of greeting when John comes home from work on the 23rd.

"Alright," he says tiredly, heading to his room to find the suit waiting. It was a busy day at work as he tried to tie up loose ends so he'll hopefully have less of a headache upon his return on the 27th.

He looks himself over in the mirror on the inside of his wardrobe. The suit fits well - of course it does, it was literally made for him - but he winces when his eyes reach his own face. Maybe he can eat an early dinner and crawl right in to bed. Lord knows he'll need the rest to deal with the Holmes family for three days.

"Are you coming down so I can see it or shall I come up there?" Sherlock calls from the living room sounding annoyed.

"Yes yes, alright," John grumbles, making his way down the stairs again.

Sherlock freezes and his look of irritation melts away, leaving one of awe in its wake. John can't help but blush slightly. Sherlock walks a circle around him once John comes to a full stop so that he can examine every angle.

When he reaches the front again, he steps forward to remove a piece of (possibly invisible) lint from the left shoulder of the suit. He looks in John's eyes before kissing him gently in the longest press of lips since their first good kiss.

"You look wonderful, John," he says when he finally steps back, looking him in the eyes so he can see his sincerity.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John practically whispers.

"Now, is there anything else you think we may need to practice before tomorrow? I need you at your absolute best."

The words 'I need' rub John the wrong way, as they sometimes do with lovers. Not that Sherlock is his lover, but he is _pretending_ to be. It feels like a demanding phrase; one that doesn't take his feelings in to account.

John steps back, his face shuttering, "No, I think we're good. We leave at 10am?" He confirms emotionlessly as he turns towards the stairs again.

Sherlock's face falls in to confusion, uncertain about the sudden change in demeanor. "Yes," he even sounds unsure.

"Good. I'll see you in the morning then."

John closes his door and doesn't come out for the rest of the night. He forgets to eat dinner.

In the morning, John is too nervous about this situation finally being real to continue being mad about Sherlock's lack of humanity.

"I have my clothes, my suit, my toiletries, my book...what am I forgetting?" John lists off while looking around the flat.

"Do you have the presents?" Sherlock asks gently, seeming afraid that John isn't actually out of the funk that he so suddenly got in to last night. If Sherlock isn't careful, he knows John could back out, and Sherlock has no backup plan should that happen.

"Oh yes!" He moves to the fireplace to grab the bag of presents. When he turns around he finally looks at Sherlock and the apprehensive look on his face. John steps to him and grabs a hand with his free one, "I'm sorry about last night. You have nothing to worry about; I wouldn't back out on you."

Sherlock is shocked by John's level of insight in to his thoughts. He squeezes the other man's hand gently in gratitude before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on his forehead. "Whatever it was I did..." he starts.

"Sherlock, just leave it. It's all fine," he smiles as he drops his hand and moves towards the door. Sherlock knows he's heard that statement before, recently, but he can't quite place when at the moment.

All of the sudden there's the sound of a car engine and Sherlock looks out the window, "That's the cab then. Sure we've got everything?"

"As sure as I can be," John says while doing up his coat before moving to grab his things.

Sherlock halts his movements with a hand on his elbow. John looks in to those ever-changing eyes with curiosity, "Are you sure you're okay with this?" he asks honestly.

John is a bit touched by the sentiment, though he'd never let Sherlock know that's what it really was in fear of it never happening again. He smiles, "Yes. But thank you for checking."

Next thing either of them knows, they're in the cab on the way to the countryside. The fare is outrageous for the trip, but then again, Sherlock can certainly afford it.

When the beautiful red house comes in to view, he gets a knot in his stomach. The last time he was here - last Christmas - he was with Mary. Sure, they hadn't talked in months, but they were still married. Hell, they're still married now technically.

"Oh my God, what are your parents going to think of me?" John voices in a sudden panic, looking at Sherlock with wild eyes.

"What are you talking about? You've already met them," he says as though John's lost his mind.

"Just last Christmas I brought Mary here. How long do they think we've been involved? Do they think I was cheating on my wife?" The panic is rising.

"John, look me in the eye," Sherlock demands gently as he places a hand on his cheek to ground him. John does as asked and calms slightly, "I didn't give them a timeline, we can say whatever we want."

"I just...your parents are a wonderful, perfect couple, and I couldn't live with it if they thought I..." _wasn't good enough for you_ he wants to say, but can't. He may not be sure what kind of relationship he wants to have with Sherlock, but he's known for a long time that they've both been exceptions in each other's lives in a lot of ways.

Sherlock snorts in derision, "Oh please, they are so in love with you I doubt you could do anything wrong."

"Except for breaking your heart. If they think I committed adultery once, they may fear I would do it again."

Sherlock looks him dead in the eyes as the cab finally comes to a halt, "I think we've both thoroughly proven that there is no coming between us. It's just you and me against the rest of the world. As it's always been. As it always will be."

John nods then closes his eyes and leans his face in to Sherlock's palm still on his cheek. Sherlock places another gentle kiss on his forehead, and it's quickly becoming one of John's favorite feelings. It's reassuring and safe.

"Come on, then," Sherlock pulls back and grins, paying the cabbie, "in to battle."

They grab their bags from the back of the cab and make their way to the door. Before they can reach it, Violet has the door open with a huge smile on her face. Siger is in the background, drink in hand, with a more subdued smile on his face.

"Sherlock, John!" She exclaims happily, embracing her son on his way in. He weasels his way out of her grip quickly and then she's on John, "I was hoping it was you," she whispers in his ear. He flushes, the beginnings of the guilt he knew would come settles in his stomach. She releases him and looks at his face, "Oh, it _is_ you isn't it?"

"Of course it's him," Siger says brightly, "who else would it be; he's the sane one."

"I thought you said Mary was the sane one," John says before he can stop himself. He's so worried about them remembering her that he brings her up himself. Idiot.

"Of you and her, yes," he waves his free hand nonchalantly, "But you have to be a bit of a nutter to put up with my lovely wife or son, don't you?" He winks at John.

"Ta," is all John says to that, a smile on his face.

"Sherlock, take John to your room and get settled. I'm afraid you'll have to share for at least tonight - hope you don't mind - we've got a full house planned," Violet addresses her son then switches to John, "You missed out on it last time, only coming for Christmas Day, but it's our turn to host the Holmes clan this year."

"Are there...many of you? I hadn't thought to ask," John swallows, not enjoying large social settings, especially ones where he's bound to feel out-classed by everyone else in attendance.

"There's 17 total at the moment, but only 12 will be able to make it for the party this evening."

"Sounds wonderful," he smiles and even kind of means it.

"We'll settle and then be back down," Sherlock holds a hand out to John who realizes with his luggage, suit, and presents that he doesn't have a spare to grab hold with.

"Violet, would you mind if I handed these to you to add to the tree?" He asks politely as he offers her the bag of presents in his left hand.

"Oh, you didn't have to do that! Sherlock never brings anything," she seems delighted as she grabs the bag.

"Never come to a house empty handed, that's what my mum always used to say," he smiles.

"At least you listened to her, unlike some boys I know," she glares at her own gangly son.

"As I said, let's get settled," Sherlock says instead of acknowledging her statement and grabs John's newly freed hand.

"We'll be back shortly," John offers apologetically. He thinks he hears Siger mutter "no rush" but can't be certain.

When they reach Sherlock's room they close the door and practically collapse on the bed. "Now that's something we didn't practice: sharing a bed," Sherlock muses.

"I think we can manage that without practicing. Unless you think your family will demand to watch us have sex."

Both men laugh long and hard at the thought, "I daresay Mummy might actually..."

John responds by hitting him on the arm as his giggles die down.

They head back down a few minutes later and join his parents for tea and talk until Mycroft arrives nearly an hour later. He goes upstairs to settle and then joins them at the table.

"So it_ is_ you, John. We were wondering," he says skeptically. This was going to be the big hurdle, convincing a man who probably still kept them under surveillance.

"Well I'm glad I at least came up as an option," he replies smoothly. Sherlock, sitting to his left, makes an exaggerated move to place a hand just above John's knee like in Angelo's, only this time John doesn't try to jump away. In fact, he places a hand over Sherlock's and moves to grasp it.

"How long has this been going on? I thought your divorce papers hadn't gone through yet," Mycroft sneers. He is definitely not buying in.

"That's true, unfortunately," John says, then looks to Sherlock's parents across the table, "I don't know if anyone told you," he shoots a look to Mycroft at this, "but Mary left me for her old boyfriend, who also happened to be the real father of the child. That was about 10 months ago now," Sherlock squeezes his hand in support, knowing (now) how difficult it is for him to talk about, "Sherlock has been wonderfully constant, of course, and we just sort of fell in to this next step suddenly; caught us a bit unawares to be honest."

Sherlock smirks at the absolute truth of the statement, because it's so brilliantly stated that it gives nothing away about the ruse. "I need my blogger," is his vague contribution. John grits his teeth against the word and the accompanying feeling of resentment.

"Still doesn't answer how long," Mycroft presses.

"Eight months in five days," Sherlock answers smoothly.

"I thought it was six days." John goads his...partner.

"Ah, that's because you're not counting the beginning of the seduction like I am."

"_That_ was seduction? There were human eyes on the table!"

"Honestly, John, the fact they were human is what set them apart as a seduction."

They smile at each other, almost forgetting the family members in the room. John closes the small distance between them to place a quick, chaste kiss to his lips, "You really are something else."

"If you don't mind..." Mycroft rudely interrupts the moment.

"You're the one who was pressing them for details," his mother points out. Mycroft blushes.

After a few more hours, everyone separates to get ready for the evening. John and Sherlock don't bother sending one of them to the bathroom down the hall to change since they've seen each other in various states of undress throughout the years.

Once changed, they face each other. John naturally reaches out to fix Sherlock's black tie that matches his black suit.

"You really do look wonderful in your suit," Sherlock tells him again.

"I know. Try not to check out my arse too much tonight," he winks and Sherlock flushes, "Thank you again for it. You look dashing as always in yours."

Sherlock takes John in his arms once he finishes fixing the tie and whispers in his ear, "It's for you. It's all for you, sir."

John pulls back to look at his face in shock, "Did you really just quote 'Love Actually' to me?"

"I'm learning," he beams, so proud of himself. He kisses John's forehead again and then steps away, "Shall we?"

"After you, darling."

The rest of the Holmes' arrive slowly, and by the end John has been introduced to three uncles, four aunts, and five cousins - two girls and three boys. Either none of them have children, or none of them brought them as there is not a younger generation present. Mycroft is the oldest of the cousins, then one of the boys, Sherlock, the other two boys, and finally the girls who must only be in their mid-20s. The girls also can't seem to stop staring at John and giggling shyly.

"Any time you would like to stop ogling my doctor would be lovely," Sherlock tells them icily as he places a possessive arm around his waist.

"Sherlock, really," John breathes in admonishment, though the move makes him a bit warm inside.

The family members are all nice. The three uncles settle in to a game of euchre and need a fourth, so they invite John to join them. Sherlock interrupts once to let John know that he "needs a pen" which John then has to try to find in a house he barely knows. Oh, he finds one, but isn't happy about the wording or having to hold up the game for it. He smiles apologetically to the uncles and they continue playing.

45 minutes later, Sherlock returns saying he "needs nail clippers" for reasons. John huffs angrily up to their room and grabs the pair from his travel case. Resumes the game with another apologetic smile.

30 minutes later Sherlock returns, "needing his phone that's been in the pocket of his trousers the entire night and is too lazy to reach down and grab." Okay, so he didn't say all of those words, but John was just reading the subtext.

John stands from his chair trying hard not to make a scene, but he has had enough of bottling these feelings inside tonight, he just might explode. Sherlock isn't really looking at him so he grabs his jaw and forces him to look him in the eye, "No," he growls before storming away.

Before he even realizes where he's going, he's in their bedroom looking out the window at the night sky.

"John?"

He sighs, not turning around, "It's in your trousers pocket, Sherlock, just like it has been all night."

"You're angry with me," he says sadly as he closes the door.

"Upset, not angry," he amends.

"Okay..." he says, but he clearly doesn't understand the difference.

John takes a deep breath, "It's not fair of me. It's not fair for me to expect you to pick up on such a small nuance that you don't understand."

"What are you talking about?"

John finally turns to face him, "I have always, for as long as I can remember, preferred to be wanted rather than needed."

"I don't understand. Is there a difference?"

"Of course there's a difference," his anger swells back up, "A _need_ is something that has to happen and it doesn't matter by whom. A _want_ is something that doesn't need to happen, doesn't need to be there, but things are better with it."

Sherlock looks sad and lost, "I still don't understand."

John sighs and runs a hand roughly through his hair, "For example: you _needed_ a pen, nail clippers, your phone; you didn't need _me_ to get them. You used me to get them because you knew I would. You didn't care that I was enjoying myself while playing a game with your uncles," Sherlock opens his mouth to respond, "No, now I'm doing this. The day you met me, you _needed_ a flatmate, you _needed_ an assistant who wasn't Anderson, you didn't need _me_. Anyone could do these things for you, Sherlock. Anyone. The difference between _need_ and _want_ that I'm hooked on is that want means you _choose me_. That you want me in the flat and as your assistant because it wouldn't be the same without me," he takes a deep breath and fights tears to get through the hardest one, "You _needed_ a boyfriend for this trip, you didn't need _me_. You didn't _choose me_."

John finishes and can't look the other man in the eye.

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"You're the most observant man in the world; I honestly thought you'd catch on," he tries to joke.

"I was never going to catch on to that. Not because I don't see how this effects you or care, but because the way you regard _want_ is what I classify as _need_."

John looks up, confused, so Sherlock continues, "Let me try to rework your arguments from my point of view. I didn't actually _need_ the pen, nail clippers, or phone tonight," John glares, "I _needed_ to be close to you, talk to you, draw your attention back to me from my uncles. Not just anyone can be my flatmate or assistant, even you know that. I am an infuriating person to be around most of the time, I know that now, and it takes a special person to deal with me. _My_ special person, the one I _chose_ very carefully."

Sherlock closes the distance between them and grabs John's hand in his, playing with his fingers, "As for this endeavor, I can't imagine how you even came across the idea that there was any choice _but_ you. I even told you there wasn't. I _needed_ it to be you, because there was no one else I could imagine doing this with. If you had said no, I would have made an excuse to Mummy not to bring anyone because I - a man who needs no one - need _you_."

He steps yet closer closing all distance between them, "With our disagreement on the meaning of words in mind, let me say this: I have wanted you in every aspect from the very start. I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that," as he finishes, he places two fingers below John's chin to lift his face for an unmistakably intimate kiss.

John latches on to Sherlock, unsure where his hands actually land, just knowing that the man cannot back away from him. They somehow fall on to the bed, Sherlock on top of John, and both moan as their erections rub against each other.

"Sherlock," John pulls back, "I want this to be real. I don't want to lie to your family any longer."

"I don't think we've been lying to my family, I think we've been lying to ourselves. No more lies."

John shakes his head and kisses him hungrily again.

There's a knock on the door, and they guiltily put some space between them, "Boys, we're hoping to open presents soon. Can we expect you back down?" Violet asks through the door.

"Yes, Mummy. Just a few more minutes and our domestic will be sorted."

"Oh, I was so worried. You hurt that man and I will disown you so fast, I swear to God, Sherlock."

"I told you she loves you," Sherlock smirks.

"That's not how that usually goes," John laughs.

Sherlock falls to the side and pulls John close to connect their hips again, "What do you think, doctor? Are you able to will that away, or do you need a hand?"

"Oh, God," John moans in to Sherlock's neck, "I'll will it away. If you touch me now I'm not leaving this room, especially not to face your family."

Sherlock chuckles and kisses him again, reverently this time because he can now.

"That is definitely not helping, Sherlock," John says as he pulls back from him.

"Sorry," he says, looking anything but.

"You absolutely are not sorry. I'm going to use the restroom, and when I get back we'll head down," he says as he makes his way off the bed and to the door.

"Think of me fondly," Sherlock winks.

"Oh shut up, I'm just splashing some cold water on my face."

Sherlock only hums in response with a smile.

About five minutes later the boys rejoin the rest of the family in the living room for presents.

When everyone is busy watching another present being opened, Sherlock turns to John and whispers in his ear, "I've got this sudden _need_ to be rid of my virginity," Sherlock smirks coyly, "And I _want_ it to be you that does it."

John beams, his heart swelling at the words, "Baker Street," he teases, "and not a second sooner."

* * *

**A/N:** The idea of preferring to be wanted over needed is difficult to put in to words, but is how I've always felt myself. I'm trying to be satisfied with how it came across, but I'm not convinced I've done myself justice. Sorry about that.


End file.
